


My Dream Come True, My One and Only You

by ImperialRemnant



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Arkham Verse, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Other, idk i ship batjokes but idk how particularly shippy this really is??, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialRemnant/pseuds/ImperialRemnant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How sick and twisted would I have to be to miss that lunatic?” Unfortunately he <em>does</em> miss the Joker, but Batman’s never been a poster boy for mental health, has he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Dream Come True, My One and Only You

**Author's Note:**

> So I was reading the comics based after Arkham City and oh lordy... and with the new Batman v Superman movie & Suicide Squad movie coming out I had a need to write something.  
> I also had issues figuring out if I should call him Bruce or Batman so sorry in advance with that o.o haven't written any DC fanfics since high school. Yeah, i had no idea where I was headed when I started writing this :)

Drifting off into a slumber, one he hadn’t received since, well, _his_  death. And Bruce – he was Batman really, to himself. He stopped being Bruce Wayne a long time ago – remembered in the batmobile, Barbara’s voice still ringing.

_My dad thinks you might be grieving for you-know-who._

_How **sick and twisted** would I have to be to miss that lunatic?  _

Then later, fighting Harley.

_I’ve seen you moping around Mister J’s hideouts every night. You wish he was back almost as much as I do!_

He’d argue he wasn’t moping, only making sure that the Joker had planned nothing. Even in death, the clown would find a way to come back.

Shutting his eyes and seeing nothing but a white face with a large smile and green hair and eyes, Batman figured he was already coming back. Sick and twisted all right. Then again, neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne were ever poster boys for mental health, were they? Maybe he _was_ sick and twisted. Just a little.

A warmth filled him, not one part of his bedroom, and he knew it was a dream. Or maybe a vision. Either way, his parents stood before him so it couldn’t be real, but another thought occurred.

“Am I dead?” Batman asked

They didn’t answer. His mother stretched her hand out to him, which he took.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Martha Wayne asked, wearing what she did in death, the pearl necklace still in place.

“Fine,” He answered, but it was a lie, “Better than ever.”

“No, you’re not,” his father answered this time. Thomas Wayne too, wearing what he had worn that night, but no blood, suit clean.

“You miss someone,” his mother said, her grip tightening as though in comfort.

“If you’re talking about _Joker_ , then no.” Batman said.

“Sometimes we can’t help how we feel, Bruce. It’s no fault of yours,” his father moved to stand beside him, grabbing hold of his shoulder.

“It’s never your fault,” his mother reassured, “but you must remember, it’s not right.”

“What?” Batman asked, his mother’s grip strengthening with every second, crushing his hand. He looked over at his father, whose face distorted, skin crumbling and flaking.

“Bruce,” Thomas shook his collapsing face, “This bond you had? Deeper than you would ever admit? It’s _wrong_.”

“That caring you feel, the affection? It’ll never end,” His mother said, face seeping in blood, letting go of his hand and taking hold of his upper arm, hand shaking.

Now his parents stood in front of him. Thomas crumbling, his bones partly visible. Martha soaking in blood that dripped slowly onto the ground.

“That hole in your heart will never go away and shall forever haunt you,” Martha said.

His father nodded in agreement, “How unsettling for everyone, son, that you grieve a monster. That you were fond of a monster. Loved a monster?”

“No one thinks highly of you,” Martha said, “They’re revolted.”

A laughter echoed around them, familiar and horrifying. From behind his parents _he_ appeared. The Joker grinned as he always did and pushed his ghastly looking parents aside so now Batman only saw the clown’s face.

“I’m flattered, my dear sweet Bat,” Joker said, his hand reaching up and touching Batman’s cheek. The clown’s hands cold against the warmth of the Bat’s skin.

The Joker’s face quickly changed, becoming blistered and ailing. His final words, “Don’t forget me, _honeycakes_.”

***

Bruce woke. Back in his own room, the curtains his own, bed his own. Everything familiar in Wayne Manor. He sighed with relief, hand going up to his face, not surprised to find he was sweating, or maybe crying, he couldn’t be sure. The Joker’s phantom touch still lingered on his skin.

Getting out of bed, Bruce went down to the batcave, the one place which brought the most comfort. A security blanket of sorts, which few were allowed access or infiltrated throughout the years. It was home, disregarding the term “home is where the heart is” since it wasn’t home _because_ Bruce’s heart wasn’t there. It was home because it was safe. His refuge. Where his most important things could be found.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure where his heart was.

“Sleep well, Master Bruce?” Alfred ask, bringing him a tray of breakfast (or dinner considering the time), which Bruce promptly ignored. The butler’s presence persistent right behind his chair.

“I have to be missing something Alfred,” Bruce tapped away at his keyboard, ignoring the whiff of buttermilk pancakes as Alfred placed the tray in front of him.

“May I be frank, sir?” Alfred asked, causing Bruce to raise an eyebrow. It’s not like he ever persecuted the older man for ever being honest.

“Of course.”

“I’m aware of your... _conviction_ that the Joker had plans posthumously-,”

“We’ve talked about this, Alfred.”

“-I’m aware, sir. Perhaps you’re right,” Alfred sighed, and Bruce didn’t dare to look at him, worried about where this was going. Alfred continued anyway, if hesitant to speak, “I have my own personal conviction that there’s more to this than you care to admit.”

Bruce became defensive, “Why does everybody seem determined to insist that I miss that lunatic!?”

Alfred’s hand fell onto Bruce’s shoulder. “I’m hardly saying that. But if you _do_ , there’s nothing wrong with it. We can’t help how we feel.”

The memory of the dream came rushing back. Bruce stood up, eager to leave the cave, to get out of Alfred’s sight.

“I have work to do.”

***

Midday. The sun high in the sky, a time when Batman was never found outside. Right now it felt inviting in a way it never did. A magical sensation from the surrounding garden, flowers in full bloom, water crashing onto rocks in the distance. He walked around bushes and hedges, a few small trees, the waterfall coming into view. The rushing stream so clear he spotted the fish swimming along.

The fish were anything but normal though. White scaled, and when he looked close, he spotted their disturbing and familiar smile.

“Batman _darling_ ,” he heard, looking away from the river and over to the figure standing beside the fall. His purple suit strangely dry, untouched by the splattering water.

“I’m dreaming,” Batman finally said.

Joker pouted, “Well don’t let _that_ ruin our fun!”

“What _fun_?” Batman asked, striding over to the clown, “This is over, we’re _done_! You’re dead!”

Why did he even bother arguing? This was a dream, so the Joker wasn’t here. But dreams remained part of the subconscious, so suppose he’s arguing with the part of his mind that insists on missing the psychopath.

“You miss me, Batsy,” Joker smiled, turning away from him and taking a step onto a slippery rock, then another, until he disappeared behind the waterfall, but Batman still heard him, “I can’t leave you until you stop thinking about me! Which will be _never_!” followed by Joker’s chilling laughter.

Batman begged for himself to wake up. When he didn’t, he followed the Joker behind the waterfall and found himself in the batcave. He thought nothing of it.

“You murdered Robin,” Batman said to the Joker who had taken a seat in front of his batcomputer, pulling up random files – _One bad day._

_The Last Laugh._

_Made for each other._

_You Complete Me._

He’d seen none of the files before.

“What ever happened to forgive and forget?” Joker asked, a picture of Jason came up on the screen. “After all, dearest, I forgive you all the time!”

“Stop it,” Bruce pleaded.

Joker swivelled around, his grin wider, pupils contracted “If I didn’t, where would I be _without you_?”

***

“Another bad dream, Sir?” Alfred asked. Bruce didn’t bother with an answer. He could always see through him, but he _had_ raised him.

“It was the Joker,” Bruce finally admitted, but wasn’t willing to elaborate. He waited for a scan of his current investigation to complete.

“As I said earlier sir, we can never help how we feel, no matter who we are. No matter who _they_ are – or were. Who am I, or anyone, to judge?”

Bruce looked away from the screen and at the older man, becoming comforted by the gentle look in Alfred’s eyes. That was when Bruce knew that the one person who did matter, the man who raised him, really  _didn't_ care if he missed the most deranged person who had ever walked the planet.

***

The beach was an odd place to be. Not anywhere Bruce Wayne visited often and definitely not a place one would go to find Batman.

He had a tranquilizer out and didn’t know why, so he put it back into his belt. Looking into the horizon, the water glinting, so steady. It was murkier than the river had been.

The Joker’s voice made Batman jump, “What a beautiful day to be out, ey Batsy?”

The Clown Prince of Crime sat on a log, filing his nails. A toothpick appeared in his hands and he cleaned in-between his teeth.

 “Hello darling,” Batman said despite himself, but a mocking tone. He walked over and sat beside Joker, looking out into the ocean.

“What, no punches? No angry scowls? No taking me to Arkham? It’s long past my curfew.” Joker asked, but appearing pleased.

“Not today,” Batman replied, “Besides, it would be a waste of time. You’re dead.”

“Yet you’re still brooding over me. It’s okay! I understand. You’re the yin to my yang, you’re going to be a little distraught.”

“Lost, mostly,” Batman admitted, and the Joker had a look of surprise, so Batman elaborated, “It’s so quiet now you’re dead. Almost. Life’s just... continued. Nobody's doing anything as extreme as you used to. It’s all mellowed down.”

“Life’s dull without the ol’ uncle J hey?” Joker smirked, “It sounds like there’s no need for a Batman either!”

“Oh, there’ll always be need for a Batman,” and he pulled his cowl off, but the Joker didn’t react to the move. “I just always took my anger, frustration, _everything_ out in the crime fighting. Especially with you. It – _you_ – were my obsession. Like I was yours, even though I couldn’t admit it. I _can’t_ , maybe never will. I just wanted you to know, in spite of everything. In spite of the fact what a murderous, psychopathic, disgusting lunatic you are-,”

“Batsy, you flatter me!”

“-in spite of it, I miss you. In the most twisted, sick, unsettling way: **I miss you**.”

He looked over at the Joker who appeared human by the expression he had of content and joy. A genuine, human joy. He found himself standing, not remembering getting up, the Joker across from him with arms stretched towards him, looking perfectly inviting

Batman smiled, but wouldn’t allow himself to fall into Joker's arms. Instead he reached up his hand, a finger brushing the dead white cheek, and suddenly his hand touched nothing.

The Joker was finally gone.


End file.
